Stanley Richmond, Comic Book Icon
by SJlikeslists
Summary: what it says in the title


"They'll be really sorry when my spider powers kick in." _Four Horsemen_

"Is she gonna wake up?"

"Yes."

"With super powers?" _Federal Response_

Disclaimer: _Jericho_ is not mine.

He watched from the shadows as the trio of bank robbers cut through an alleyway toward the seeming safety of their getaway car. They wouldn't make it that far - not if he had anything to say about it. He thought, briefly, about taking them out one by one from behind, but that wasn't really his style. He was a straightforward kind of a guy, and he wanted them to realize what had happened to them. He wanted them to spread the word to the others of their ilk (hey, he was properly using the word ilk, headquarters would be so proud) that this town, his home, was off limits. If you messed with Jericho, Kansas, you messed with him.

He executed a series of flips that left him standing between the three and their means of escape. They paused for a moment looking shocked at his sudden appearance. He tried to tell himself that they were stunned silent in awe over the precision with which he had made his entrance, but he knew the truth. He nearly always got the same reaction. He had tried to tell his sister that the tights were simply too much, but she had insisted. She just wouldn't take no for an answer.

He would be bringing that topic up again later; he had heard her and HQ giggling about it the other day. For right now, he had other priorities - like the thug that looked like he was about to rush him.

With a small flick of his wrist, the thug found himself smashing into the wall stuck to it by some green material that had latched onto his arm.

"Oh, shucks," he muttered (grinning to himself at his use of the pun). "Did I do that?"

"What are you?" Inquired one of the other thugs watching as the first tried without success to wrench his arm free.

"I am Cornman," he declared proudly striking his most heroic pose to best show off the yellow and green of his spandex outfit. The thugs didn't appear to be overly impressed. He blamed the spandex (and kid sisters with warped senses of humor).

The next few minutes were a flurry of exchanged blows and flying substances that should (in the natural order of things) not come flying out of a person's wrists. The first thug was even more thoroughly stuck to the wall of the alley. The second was moaning on the ground cocooned in some fine, brown threadlike substance. The third was attempting to hop away (his legs were stuck together) after having delivered a wicked uppercut to Cornman's jaw that had knocked the man to the ground.

He didn't get far. A soft buzzing sound filled the air, and the third thug was left twitching on the ground as if he had just been the recipient of an exchange with the business end of a taser.

"Took you long enough," Cornman complained as he rubbed gingerly at his jawline. A masked woman with long blond hair wearing a leather jumpsuit emerged from the shadows and offered him a small shrug.

"Your tracking device is malfunctioning," the woman told him as she surveyed the scene. "HQ had to use the signal from your com to figure out where you were. Besides, you had it mostly under control."

"I always have it mostly under control," he replied with a goofy sort of smile. The blond rolled her eyes at him.

"Jimmy and Bill are on their way," she told him. "I've got this covered. Don't you have somewhere you are supposed to be?"

"What time is it?" He demanded suddenly sounding a little bit panicked.

"9:02," she replied watching as he scrambled out of the alley muttering curses under his breath.

"Cornman, this is HQ. Status." A voice came over his earpiece.

"Can't you get a status update from Electra Babe?" He asked sounding out of breath (which he was as he was attempting to make it across town in record time).

"I could," the woman's voice answered. "But I wanted to remind you that you're late for your meeting."

"I know that," he panted. "You could have reminded me earlier."

"You were kind of busy," she told him. "Also I need you to remember to bring in your tracker."

"Can you fix it?" He asked slowing up to catch his breath as he got closer to his destination.

"Have we found anything that I can't fix yet?" She countered.

"Good point."

"Have fun on your date . . . I mean at your appointment. HQ signing off." He could swear he could still hear the little brunette snickering at him even though she had disconnected him. He would deal with her later. He had a different brunette to focus on at the moment.

She was pacing back and forth in front of their meeting spot, and she looked . . . decidedly unhappy. Then, she spotted him.

"You!" She somehow managed to make it sound like an accusation. He didn't really mind (not that he would ever admit that to her). She was really hot when she was angry.

"You are nine minutes late. Nine minutes! Do you know what I could have been accomplishing in those nine minutes? Without punctuality there is no order and with no order there is no efficiency. You have no respect for . . ."

He opted to cut off her ranting before she really got going. "Well, I'm here now."

She huffed at him.

"So, what did we need to discuss today?" He asked trying to sound as contrite as possible.

She continued huffing, but she pulled a file from her briefcase and flipped it open. "We need to discuss your latest tax return. These deductions that you've been taking . . ."

"And here I thought this was a social call . . ." he trailed off trying to give her a hopeful look. (That probably didn't work considering that over half of his face was covered with a bright yellow mask, but it was the thought that counted, right?)

She gave him her best glare (and that was saying something as she was really, really good at those). "In your dreams . . ."

"Stanley?"

"Huh?"

"Stanley!"

"What?" The man muttered sitting up on his cot and rubbing at his eyes. He blinked up at the man who had been calling his name.

"We've got to get going," the man was giving him a funny sort of look. "It's nearly time to be at the factory."

"I'm up, Eric," Stanley told him. "You can stop hovering."

"Right," he agreed walking out of the room.

Stanley heaved himself out of bed. Tired and hungry were too common of an occurrence for him to give the fact that he was both much thought. He thought, instead, about the dream he had been having. It had been a pleasant one, and he was going to try to hold on to the feeling for as long as he could.


End file.
